


Heat Gets Hotter

by Prosodi



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Backstory, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosodi/pseuds/Prosodi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't happen the first time they work together - which is as straight forward a gig as they get. She drives them in, the muscle does their thing, and she drives them out. It goes without a hitch and honestly at the time she doesn't make much of him: because Charlie Cutter looks like any other dime a dozen back alley, pubber thug that tends to fall into this line of work. In fact they barely exchange more than ten words - and why should they? She's driving. He's working the ground. There isn't any reason to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Gets Hotter

It doesn't happen the first time they work together - which is as straight forward a gig as they get. She drives them in, the muscle does their thing, and she drives them out. It goes without a hitch and honestly at the time she doesn't make much of him: because Charlie Cutter looks like any other dime a dozen back alley, pubber thug that tends to fall into this line of work. In fact they barely exchange more than ten words - and why should they? She's driving. He's working the ground. There isn't any reason to.

The second time they work together it is a year, maybe more than, after and she doesn't recognize him outside a niggling feeling that she should until he calls her by name like he's seen her last week. "You don't remember me, do you?" he asks when she dodges using his name.

"Barcelona, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

"Sorry--"

"Cutter. Charlie. Whatever you please." She shakes his hand because he offers it.

The job itself isn't really much different than the previous one. She drives them in, she drives them out. Except she and Cutter talk on the way over and they talk on the way back (once she knows they haven't been followed). It's mostly nonsense conversation: shooting the shit. Cutter talks about some footie team like she should care (not that she doesn't like a match or two, just that she is by no means invested). At the end of the evening she floats the idea of a celebratory drink. She and boys retire to the closest bar they can find and drink cheap beer out of habit rather than necessity. Afterward they all go their separate ways.

When it does happen, they're not even working a job. Not together anyway. It's one of those odd cases of serendipity where she's in London for A Thing and he's in the same shady part of the city for some Other Thing and they happen to run into one another at just the right time so that when Chloe asks if he wants to get a beer - to catch up -, they both have the time to do it. So they go and they drink a few rounds and they talk about nothing again. Eventually, her legs stretched out under the table and bumping amiably against Cutter's, she asks, "So do you live nearby?"

And he does (kind of) and is game, so he says "Close enough anyway." Cutter pays their tabs (both of them) and they catch a cab (not close enough to walk apparently) and the ride over is easy going and no one says much and the cab driver is polite and the city is a dull autumn grey. It's pleasant all the way up through the door of Cutter's apartment (which is not the same apartment he has later, but is similar). In fact Chloe considers herself very well behaved until Cutter asks if she'd like a cup of tea, at which point she says, "Not in the slightest" before pulling him down by the lapels of his cheap imitation leather coat (later he will own a real one) so she can kiss him on the mouth.

And for maybe a moment and a half, Cutter doesn't do anything. And then he kisses her back. And then he puts his wide hands on her waist and for maybe thirty seconds they stand there just inside the closed door until Chloe starts shed her jacket, breaking the press of their mouths to breathe hot against Charlie's lips. There is a small scar there above the corner of his mouth. He doesn't really give her the time to study it though before he slides his hands from her waist and down: pinches her bottom like a bar thug and then picks her off the ground despite the solid tap she lands to his shoulder.

They're really only a little drunk, so there's not really an excuse for how clumsy Charlie is when he puts her down on his bed. He says "Shit," and apologizes as she catches herself with one hand. She opts to give him the benefit of the doubt - quirks her eyebrows and doesn't say anything. Instead she just reels him down again. By the size of him, it should be harder to push and pull him around. But it isn't. But he also doesn't press into the contact like a stray dog looking for attention and that-- well.

She isn't complaining.

He's careful not to be heavy over top of her, though he isn't shy: presses the angle of his hip against her body and Chloe slides her legs open and-- and his hands are at her waist again and the press of their mouths isn't in a hurry but is something like the opposite of lazy. She presses the flat of her palm against his chest, then loops her arm around his shoulder. Scrapes her fingernails against the base of his neck. Eventually he rucks her shirt up over her bra and -- shit, she can feel him hot between her legs. The tension of his body against hers prompts a small sound from low in the back of her throat. She hitches up the angle of her knees, presses up into him. Presses up into the touch of his callused fingers sliding up under the wire of her bra.

It's all downhill (uphill?) from there. Eventually she catches a fistful of Charlie's shirt and pushes him off her - follows him up and straddles him so she can take off her shirt and unfasten her bra while he presses his thumbs a little desperately along the inner seam of her trousers. Her hair is half down already and she doesn't intend to bother with it one way or another until she leans down to kiss him again and Charlie takes the opportunity to pull her hair tie free. "Ouch," she growls against his mouth.

He says sorry in a way that obviously means he's not.

Eventually she lets him sit up so he can shed the jacket he's still wearing - Charlie pulls his shirt over his head too, and manages not to get trapped in the sleeves. Chloe doesn't bother with a helping hand. Instead she pulls her belt free and pushes her trousers down around her knees and feels very pleased with herself when Charlie's hand finds its way to press low against her naked abdomen just above the edge of her underwear.

"There you go champ." It makes him laugh. And he moves his hand down between her legs, touching her through the fabric and-- and he slides her underwear out of the way with his thumb and he-- She swears very mildly and doesn't really think twice about leaning into the slide of his fingers.

And he kisses her on the neck and then the mouth. And then he presses her back onto the mattress and slides her trousers and underwear off and uses his fingers to press into her while she claws at his neck until-- and with his thumb-- and then--

\--and eventually she has the good sense to work his belt open. He doesn't even take his pants off, just kind of gets them out of the way and swears about condoms (some rummaging in the rickety bedside table; he almost knocks the lamp off), and she tries not to laugh at him when he tears the first one and has to go looking for a second ("Fuck bollocks hell piss," he chants and she laughs anyway).

His fingers on her naked hip are slippery from the condom and slick from her. She catches Charlie's wrist (which is thick and taut from the tension running through his arm) and breathes out hot when he pushes into her and doesn't breathe in again until he's flush against her.

From there it's good, not stellar. He hits his stride early and she cants her hips into the roll of his. Frankly it isn't long before he is pressing his face against the line of her neck and making sharp noises against her skin. She touches his hip and his side and says nothing in particular against the angle of his jaw.

He's mostly quiet when he comes, and is pleasantly quick about pulling out and rolling off her. For a while they both lay flat on their back on top of the covers, legs akimbo and chests heaving. Once Chloe catches her breath, she sits up: pushes her hair back from her face. "Bathroom?" she asks.

"There." He waves a hand in the general direction, then presses the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Christ."

"Good lad." She pats him on the chest with the flat on her hand and then rolls out of the bed. His low, tired peal of laughter follows her.


End file.
